Silence
by Eleture
Summary: Blaine falls off a balcony. Blangst ensues. Trigger warnings: graphic description of injury


**Summary: **Blaine and Kurt go to the beach for a romantic getaway. Instead of wine and dinner, Blaine falls of a balcony. Blangst ensues.

**Warnings: **Graphic description of traumatic injury. Shameless Blaine whump. Poor editing.

*crawls out of hiding* So I am so sorry for not being around of late. Writers' block and a new job and city and life basically hit me in the face and I disappeared off the face of Tumblr. It's only been two months, but I have missed you guys, so I'm posting this without editing. I hope it's not horribly disappointing?

**Silence**

"It's a beautiful night isn't it?" Warm arms wrap around him from behind, and Kurt's chin rests on his shoulder lightly.

Blaine hums in agreement, casting an eye out over the garden and the beach beyond: the perfect romantic get-away for their first college spring break.

"Wine?" Kurt murmurs, nuzzling into his neck.

"I'll get it." Blaine offers, hoping Kurt will agree before he realises the trap that's been set.

"No." Kurt's lips press gently against his, "No looking until dinner. _It's a surprise." _

Blaine whines in protest and chases Kurt a few centimetres to catch a parting kiss. "I've been waiting an hour." He replies with his best pout. He doesn't mention he's starting to get hungry. Kurt tends to plan these things to the minute and he doesn't want to rush it.

"It'll be worth it." His stunning boyfriend offers as he steps away into the house. Blaine smiles after him.

"You always are." His voice _might _have a hopeful lilt to it.

"Flattery won't get you inside any faster!" Kurt calls back with a grin, and then he's gone into the dining room and kitchen, where _something _is cooking. Blaine tries his best not to catch a glimpse when the door swings open. He wants Kurt to surprise him the best way he can. It will be worth it.

Finding himself alone he moves further to the balcony and breathes deep.

_He's so lucky. _

The view is breath-taking, and his boyfriend is here with him: alone. He's been looking forward to this moment for weeks.

Leaning on the railing Blaine tries to memorise the moment, which is why he'll remember it with startling clarity for the rest of his life.

First, there's a creaking groan of wood protesting pressure, then a distinct crack, a shout – that was probably his – and then nothingness beneath him.

The moment lasts for long enough for Blaine to become aware of two things. The first is that railing has snapped forwards under his weight. The second is that Blaine is still holding it, which means he's falling too.

His brain catches on well after his body, because his hands are already scrabbling for purchase, his whole body twists backwards.

It's not enough.

-.-.-.-

It's not that Blaine can't be trusted to cook soufflé, but it's just that he has this _habit _of jumping on furniture without thinking, and when Kurt says habit he means 'uncontrollable compulsion'.

And it is uncontrollable. Kurt has tried and failed spectacularly to induce a respect for gravity in his boyfriend. He's finally resigned himself to the fact – _and maybe it's one of the _endless_ reasons he loves Blaine..._

He leaves his unsuspecting boyfriend on the balcony of the beach house they've rented for a week and uses his time to arrange the table and carefully pour two glasses of sparkling white wine.

He doesn't head the crack of the wooden rail, nor the surprised shout through the thick walls.

He doesn't know Blaine has just hit the concrete some five-feet below.

He doesn't know how lucky they are that the stairs curve back under the wooden ledge they'd been standing on.

It might have saved Blaine's life.

-.-.-.-

Pain. Sharp shooting, driving _needles _of white hot pain lance down his vein and stab right into him.

He pulls in a deep shuddering breath. His foot is on _fire. _

"Oh-Ghhhh-_God._" He breathes out then presses his lips together tightly as he suppresses a scream. The high-pitched whine breaks the silence.

_Pull it together. _

He has to bite his cheek – _hard – _to force his brain to focus on something other than the shattering pain of his right foot. Somehow, his heel has caught an awkward angle on the stairs and there's so a slick waterfall of blood dripping down towards the ground floor.

He takes one look and immediately shuts his eyes. "Okay." He tells himself, half sitting on the steps. "Okay."

His voice is barely a whisper. He needs to get to Kurt.

He goes to lay a hand on the step to aid his ascent but at the slightest pressure snaps it back again.

"Kurt?"

_God-damn it why can't he scream? _Instead he whines again, barely suppressing the pain in his voice. His eyes track the bloody handprint where his hand has just been.

Surely that's not his?

"Kuuuu-Kurt?" He sounds like a child, he knows it, but his tongue isn't cooperating and _fuck _it hurts.

It takes him a moment to realise that Kurt hasn't come running. Maybe Kurt won't find him until he comes back.

Blaine can't wait that long.

With agonising precision he rolls onto his stomach awkwardly, hunched over the steps, and uses his forearms as leverage to shuffle up, his good foot pushing him along. His shattered foot, scraped calves and bleeding skin, dangles uselessly below him.

He makes it two steps before he has to stop.

His weight settles heavily there, head resting on his arms.

Stupid as it seems, Blaine is struck by a sudden longing for a warm bed and chicken-noodle soup. _Comfort. _

Instead, he finds himself trying to bite back tears, and wearily raising his left arm to slowly, ever so slowly, army crawl his way to help.

He makes it six steps in total when he finally pulls up onto the wooden ledge.

_He wants to die. _

-.-.-.-

He carefully balances on glass on each hand and backs out of the door as slowly as possible, trying to not disturb his culinary masterpiece.

He gentle ocean breeze hits his face as he ducks back into the wide entertaining area of the house. It's quiet.

"Blaine?" He calls as he nears the doorway.

"Kurt?"

There's something in the answering whisper that makes his feet move a little faster.

The moonlight illuminates the balcony. It should be romantic.

Instead, the glasses hit the floor with near simultaneous smashes and the glass sprays in every direction as the smell of wine invades his senses.

Blaine – sweet Blaine – has his top half sprawled on the balcony, his body half across the steps leading up to it, but that's not why Kurt's hands momentarily stop working.

It's the palms that are turned upwards, almost begging, that are scratched and splintered and dripping scarlet through outstretched fingers.

"Blaine, honey, say something!"

It takes three steps to get to Blaine, and half a moment to collapse in front of him. Kurt's heart is stuttering, his mind jammed in second gear.

"Kurt." The reply is almost a sob, and Blaine's arms wrap around Kurt's legs, his forehead pressed against his shins. It's almost like a child or servant begging, but it's that much more heart-breaking because it's _Blaine _and Kurt.

"I'm here, okay, I've got you." He doesn't ask what happened, doesn't need to. Instead he carefully lifts Blaine away from his legs and helps him roll so he's sitting somewhat upright on the first step.

It's then that he sees his boyfriend's mangled foot. His chest heaves once in involuntary response but he forces the thought away at the tiny sound Blaine makes in protest of the movement. Blaine is the priority now.

"Ambulance," he tells himself, as he lets Blaine rest against him. "Phone." Of course it's inside, and Blaine is here.

Blaine's breath hitches for no reason, and then he whines, pressing into Kurt's embrace. It's so familiar, reminds him of the slushy incident and ensuing surgery or worse still that time Burt accidentally threw his young boyfriend into a glass vanity.

"Make it stop." Blaine whispers, head lolling against Kurt's shoulder.

"I will, I'll get help." Kurt almost stands up but he's struck by the sudden image of Blaine fainting in the car when they were younger, with Burt driving and Carole pressing towels to Blaine's elbow. He's suddenly intimately aware of just how steep the stairs are – or how _close _Blaine is to falling again. "Come on, you have to move."

Blaine responds by shifting as Kurt manipulates him, but mostly the taller boy has to pull him along as Blaine weakly holds his damaged limbs away from the ground. It takes a minute to get shuffle onto the flat ground where Kurt is sure no shattered glass has reached.

Blaine falls limply against the ground and the curls in on himself, left leg kicking in an effort to escape whatever agony his right is surging with.

"I'll be right back honey."

Kurt isn't even sure Blaine hears him.

-.-.-.-

He's starting to really believe in that acupuncture stuff. You know, the argument that one spot on your foot can somehow change this random part of your body. It's got to true, because there's no other way to explain why his right knee and the whole of his lower stomach are absolutely searing with pain when they weren't before.

He doesn't even know.

It's just a haze.

He's vaguely aware he's moaning almost continuously, because for reasons he cannot explain it is somehow utterly imperative that in this moment he vocalises just how badly it hurts.

There aren't words.

Words can't possible describe the universe spinning on its axis.

Someone's hands are carding through his hair. It grounds him in his agony every time tempting darkness tries to envelope him. Instead, unconsciousness lingers just out of reach.

It's the first time in his life Blaine has ever understood the meaning of the word hell.

"Shhhh," a voice whispers, "Don't cry, God Blaine, please don't cry."

Blaine clutches at Kurt's hand – he knows its Kurt without looking – and he waits for it to end.

The relief of unconsciousness would be overwhelming if he were awake to feel it.

-.-.-.-

The paramedics arrive as Kurt is starting to truly descend into panic. Blaine has been unresponsive since he got him onto the flat balcony and unconscious for a few minutes.

He's never felt so useless sitting there with a beach towel tied to Blaine's foot as Kurt does his best to stem an aggressive blood flow from his lover's palm.

"Hey kid, we got him."

He nods numbly, every fibre of his being rebelling against letting them take Blaine.

He doesn't really understand the words that are flying around over his head, phrases like "BP is dropping" don't mean a lot to him, but they make him panic anyway.

"Hey, hey kid, look at me."

Someone forces his eyes away from Blaine's tiny body being strapped to a back-board.

"He's gonna be fine." A young paramedic is looking at him sternly, "He's lost a bit of blood but were gonna patch him up just fine okay?"

Kurt stares at him.

"Okay?" The young man prompts.

"Okay." Kurt agrees, he takes a deep breath.

Blaine is going to be fine, he tells himself as he lets the paramedics help him into the spare seat and the sirens wail anew.

_Blaine is going to be fine. _

-.-.-.-

It's the longest night of Kurt's life in the end. He sits there waiting, calling people to distract himself and wishing they were closer to home.

The nurses bring him coffee when they have the time, and another lady in the waiting room sits with him quietly. They don't speak, but their mutual presences reassure them.

Kurt feels empty without Blaine.

When he finally drops into a hard plastic chair beside his boyfriend he can't help but burst into tears.

Blaine, despite the eyes glazed with medication, just holds out a hand and whispers sweet nothings to him.

Blaine is going to be fine, but it doesn't stop Kurt from worrying.

- FIN -

References to the Burt and Blaine and vanity incident are from my fic "Shatter Point". Why yes, that was a shameless plug.

Thanks for reading. I do honestly appreciate your time. Love!


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